


Slippery When Wet

by hisboywriter



Category: Free!
Genre: Graphic Sex, M/M, Smut, Some Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 05:06:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hisboywriter/pseuds/hisboywriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They mostly have sex in water.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slippery When Wet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stefany](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Stefany).



 

**-X-**

 

They mostly have sex in the water.

 

Once the shock over Haru being romantically engaged (with something other than water) ebbed, no one would be surprised that, of all places, it was in water where the affection flowed easiest. The first time had left Makoto agog with the realization of what Haru’s flushed face, scant millimeters from his own, had foreshadowed. Thinking about it in the present must have made him look both guilty and idiotically content.

 

While he remembered that day in sordid details, Makoto couldn’t outline a timeframe that explained how his furtive glances had given way to a hand held, a shoulder leaned into, a peck to the forehead, laced fingers, a not so accidental brush of lips.

 

Like two streams bonding into a river, it just happened, had been bound to happen if some had a say in it, which Makoto preferred they didn’t. It was the flow of things between him and Haru, and it was good, mishaps included.

 

As Makoto gazed over the pool Nagisa, Rei, and Haru used for practice, his heart’s pitter-pattering intensified. He dare not linger his attention on a particular corner of the pool or a stretch of wall that had been clung on to too tightly, lest his heart get away from his control, as it always did. One glance at Haru years ago had told him how little power he had over it to begin with.

 

“Mako-chan,” Nagisa called, heaving his arms over the pool’s rim. “Ready to try for another personal best?”

 

“Ah, soon,” Makoto said, hoping his voice, if nothing else, had some proof of his wit. He peered over at Rei reaching the other end of the pool, and Haru floating listlessly on his back, eyes shut, a tilt to his lips.

 

“Mako-chan?”

 

Already Makoto felt the rush of heat flood his face, no less assuaged by the smirk Nagisa cast his way.

 

“Something on your mind, Mako-chan?” His tone said everything he wouldn’t in such a public venue.

 

Nagisa always knew things and, more importantly, smiled away the fact that he knew things. A lot of things, including the development of two of his dearest friends.

 

He probably even knew about what they did in the water.

 

“No, nothing,” Makoto insisted, waving his hands like it had any power to ward off Nagisa’s personality. He hurried into the pool to exhaust his mind into obedience.

 

Practice couldn’t end soon enough.

 

As much as Makoto could indulge in the sight of Haru swimming all day, some days Nagisa’s furtive teasing turned his stomach inside out and the urge to duck behind something impenetrable became overwhelming.

 

Then there were the times Nagisa smiled their way, so soft and full of something Makoto couldn’t name. Nowadays Rei studied them differently too, a puzzle almost solved, a jigsaw missing a couple pieces to confirm the picture.

 

They knew enough, and that warranted Makoto’s unease that he was letting his daydreams get the best of him. He replayed moments with Haru in the water, of course, but he still ached for a little something else, something where water didn’t play into the equation to cotton Haru up to their intimacy.

 

So when, on their way back from practice, Haru said his name a particular way, Makoto almost jolted.

 

He looked over at in time for Haru to say again, “Makoto.”

 

Makoto slowed his pace down.“Ah…Yes?” He must have let fantasies really get the better of him if he was picking up insinuations in Haru’s tone already.

 

Head tipped down, Haruka’s bangs concealed the better part of his expression. Something was crossing his mind, which piqued Makoto’s curiosity. Regardless of what his demeanor gave off, Haru had a predilection toward impulsive behavior.

 

It proved true not two breaths later, when he pressed his hand into Makoto’s. At first, there was nothing particularly lurid about the gesture, not until his fingers started moving. Thin as they were compared to Makoto’s, they were built to fondle larger hands.

 

First, the tip of one, then two nails dragged across Makoto’s palm. It was a faint sensation, but Makoto’s spine felt chills scratch down its length, flooded by an aftermath of heat. Then, Haruka’s thumb rubbed circles across the back of his hand, ghostly.

 

A shiver rolled over Makoto, disrupting the rate of his walk. “Haru,” he murmured.

 

The pads of Haru’s fingers tapped nonsensical codes against Makoto’s palm now, punctuated by another delicate sweep of his nails that shouldn’t have been erotic as it felt.

 

By the time they fell into Haru’s home, mouths latched onto one another, Makoto knew he was a cluttered mess of arousal and desire.

 

“Haru…”

 

Haru opened his mouth wider for each kiss in response, fingers threading and tangling up in Makoto’s hair. Whoever would joke that Haru was a docile lover would eat their words. More accurately, Haru handled Makoto’s shy urges with a fervor that was only slightly eclipsed by his love of swimming. When Makoto had gathered the nerve to kiss him on the mouth the first time, Haru tugged him back to deepen it. When Makoto’s hands had nervously trailed the seams of a shirt, Haru had guided them under and onto his skin.

 

It was all Haru now that directed Makoto’s body into his room. They’d kissed, touched each other, and fooled around on this bed before. The air hung thicker today, laced with something Makoto couldn’t place. This wasn’t a usual session that would end on the brink of sex, but never quite reaching it.

 

They tumbled into bed, Makoto reeling back to ensure his body weight hadn’t crushed the smaller one.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

Haru blew a strand of hair out of Makoto’s face.

 

“Too much effort,” Haru said, his hands tugging at Makoto’s clothing for emphasis.

 

Makoto flashed him a grin and had no qualms about undressing both of them. When it came for Haru, however, he evened his pace out, wanting to reveal each stretch of skin leisurely now that he had the opportunity.

 

What protests Haru had about the length of time that required went away when each revelation of skin was met with wet, open-mouthed kisses.

 

“You like kissing me,” Haru said after a moment.

 

Makoto peered up as he made to shed Haru’s swimsuit off, the last piece that did very little to conceal the bulge tenting at its apex.

 

“I do,” Makoto answered, and illustrated the point by kissing Haru on the mouth.

 

The swimsuit went neglected for a while as they rolled with one another, exchanging fierce kisses, sloppy ones, languid ones. Makoto lingered on the languid ones for a while, thinking Haru enjoyed those best, since it granted Makoto the chance to gradually nibble on his lips.

 

Then Haru rolled them again, thighs spread to allow Makoto natural access between them. This was really happening, and part of Makoto convinced him it was his hopes feeding him lies again.

 

“Haru, do—” he wasn’t sure how to say it. He had rarely been the one to initiate contact, let alone verbally express himself on these matters. Haru may had been the quiet one, but when it came to this, Makoto felt like he needed the translator.

 

With Haru though, he didn’t seem to need it. He merely wiggled out of his swimsuit and nudged Makoto aside to reach his bathroom. Makoto had such an excellent view (and now he had every right to ogle) for the time being, both when Haru left and returned, that he didn’t recognize what was being pushed into his palm at first.

 

Oh.

 

When he looked back at Haru, his teammate was studying the wall as it were fascinating. It was a feeble attempt to detach himself, what with Makoto knowing his body language all too well to not understand that pink of his cheeks wasn’t just from their make-out session.

 

“Haru-chan,” Makoto cooed.

 

“Again with the ch—mm.” Haru shut his eyes and pressed into the kiss.

 

Makoto chuckled against his mouth, his hands steering the other back down. He broke the kiss, but continued a trail down the slope of Haru’s body, stopping when he reached his legs. Each inner thigh earned a slower one, followed by nibbling. His free hand didn’t stop moving, soothing over the rising goosebumps, rubbing patterns over quivering muscles.

 

Haru’s name was perfect as a sigh or a moan. Makoto didn’t spare himself the luxury of saying it, preferably against Haru’s skin. His breath didn’t match the way water would trickle down Haru’s body, but neither could water mirror what his lips did.

 

They found a nub eventually, were hungry for it. Makoto resisted, as he always did, picking at signs of approval before he latched on and suckled slowly. Makoto liked it better this way, all Haru, no water, pool or ocean, modifying the taste.

 

His hand meanwhile still traversed expanses of a body he knew well from looking alone. It traveled familiar bulges of muscle, squeezed, and traced zigzags down the lean stretch of Haru’s navel. Lower, it ghosted over a stiff member.

 

Up until that point, Haru had remained true to his taciturn nature. Where other lovers might have been a conflagration of noise, Haru’s reaction was a river’s purr, subtle but there. The opaqueness deep in his gaze made itself known early on, and could be missed by a careless eye. There was also the discoloration in his skin, not unlike the coloring of someone completing a mile-run, but it was the manner in which Haru tried to tilt his face that way or this to hide it that tickled something inside Makoto.

 

Just like how Haru converted a soft gasp into a tense grunt as Makoto’s hand found a grip on him. There was no helping the way he shuddered, or the slight arch his back made when Makoto stroked him in time with his tongue’s attention to his chest.

 

Slowly, Makoto dislodged and worked on Haru’s neck. It was early to be going for a sensitized piece of Haru’s body, but with Haru exposing it the way it was now, who was Makoto to refute the invitation.

 

It worked. The first, low sound of a moan trickled free of Haru. Makoto didn’t think he could be loud if he tried. There was no better way to dub it other than cute.

 

“Haru,” he said, nuzzling the spot he had brought to the surface.

 

Haru’s hands released their assault on the sheets and shakily found their way along Makoto’s arms. There, they stroked up and down in time with the hand on his shaft. The tips of his fingers tickled at Makoto’s skin, earning a few more shivers and chuckles.

 

Finally, Makoto shied from the touch and replaced his arm with his mouth. He could devote days to kissing Haru, underwater or not, but there was a delight in knowing he had all the air in the world to prolong his affection.

 

He pecked Haru’s palm, then each digit, and lightly bit the middle one. Haru faintly smiled at him before replacing one hand with the other.

 

“You like my mouth, I see,” Makoto said against his finger pads. He kissed each one.

 

“My grandma had a saying about kisses,” Haru said. “She said each kiss, whether before bed, in the morning, on the way to school, should be like the last kiss you give that person.”

 

“Haru…” Makoto wondered if Haruka’s parents had done so before they left the city. Somehow, he didn’t think so.

 

Haru traced the features of his face, then covered Makoto’s eyes. Makoto realized it was to conceal whatever face Haru made as he said, softer, “You kiss me that way.”

 

Makoto smiled, letting Haru’s hands linger over his eyes until they slipped off their own accord. He gazed down at the boy he’d rambled nonstop about to his parents as a child, the same boy that let him duck behind him when a goose at the lake grew too aggressive, the quiet boy who would raise his voice for Makoto’s wellbeing.

 

He replied by kissing Haru again.

 

He had uncapped the bottle at some point during his attention on Haru’s hands. Now he leaned back, coating two fingers. He made sure Haru could see what he was doing, and he took his time settling between Haru’s parted legs.

 

As warning, he pressed butterfly kisses to the inside of Haru’s knee. His fingers brushed by the delicate area. Haru’s muscles tightened on reflex, but Makoto had no plans to insert his fingers in yet. As if they had all the hours in the world, he circled the area, his heart thumping erratically in his chest. He didn’t feel as collected as he was trying hard to portray.

 

Haru must have sensed it, because his foot nudged Makoto.

 

Makoto held his breath. He slipped one finger in, bit by bit, a third of the way in without a break. His eyes never strayed from Haru’s face, and he noted the tension lining his jaw, and the way his eyes screwed shut.

 

“Does it hurt?” Water had always offered assistance, but the burden rested on Makoto now.

 

To his surprise, Haru shook his head. He exhaled hard.

 

“Forgot to breathe,” was all he said.

 

Makoto almost laughed at the petulance.

 

He put his mouth and free hand to work as the finger sank as deep as it could. Ripples of heat overcame him from the contact. It was rawer this time, the muscles tighter around him as he found an easy pace to start with.

 

Haru kept one side of his face pressed against the pillow. He might have forgotten that half of his face was all Makoto needed to understand him. Right now he saw the effect of the intimacy creasing lines on Haru’s face, especially around his mouth as he stuffed down whatever wanted to come out of his throat.

 

One finger made way for two, and Makoto got the reward of Haru tilting his head back and sighing the sweetest sigh there was.

 

“Good?” Makoto asked.

 

Haru shivered, staring drunkenly at the ceiling. A little ‘ah’ came through. It was almost undetectable beneath the sound of Makoto’s rushing blood, but he heard it, and it went straight to his gut.

 

He swallowed several times and forced his gaze away before he undid himself with looking alone. There was plenty to do thankfully, his mouth and hand spilling ardor wherever they went. His fingers never ceased moving, finding new ways to shift and curl within Haru to provoke the start of a stifled sound.

 

A ragged gasp broke out of Haru, one hand of his gripping Makoto’s wrist to still him.

 

“Haru?”

 

Haru’s face had gone too red to deny, yet still he moved with the grace of someone who was not a flustered, aroused mess. “Makoto,” was all that came out.

 

Apprehension mounting, Makoto withdrew his fingers and prepared himself. The few times they had pawed at each other in bed, Haru had done his fair share of pawing. They both had been clumsy, Makoto more so than Haru, and hadn’t really known what they were doing, both riding a wave they had no prior experience with.

 

Now it felt like Makoto had refined his technique, all of it revolving around Haru’s pleasure, while the other had unwound more and more with each onslaught of body grinding. Makoto sometimes preened knowing Haru allowed himself to unravel under his hands and lips alone, though it was a secret he replayed in his mind only and sometimes daydreamed of at the most inappropriate times.

 

Makoto committed this scene to memory like the rest of them, savoring each detail to be revisted at a later time, over and over. He paused over Haru, realizing the water had offered another perk they lacked now. The angle was all wrong, a nuisance that would end up uncomfortable for both their backs.

 

“What is it?” Haru asked.

 

Bypassing Haru’s head, Makoto snagged a free pillow. “Lift your hips,” he instructed.

 

When Haru blinked back, Makoto sighed and hauled up those delectable legs himself. The surprised sound that flew out of Haru made it worthwhile.

 

“Sorry,” he said, kissing one knee as he determined the positions favorable.

 

Haru snorted. His chest heaved a little harder, his gaze intently on Makoto as he felt pressure against his backside.

 

“Breathe,” Makoto said, his own limbs on the verge of trembling with anxiety, “and tell me if it hurts too much.”

 

Haru pressed his lips firmly together.

 

Then, forever later, Makoto was pressing in, and he forgot to take his own advice. His lungs burned as he held his breath for each millimeter that worked its way through. Beneath him, Haru’s back bowed, his mouth parted for a cry that had run dry on his throat.

 

A fierce grip on Makoto’s wrist had him pause. He blew out his constrained breath and held himself still, sucking in every facet of the display under him. Haru’s eyes had shut and now fluttered opened, the first thing they sought out being Makoto.

 

Makoto smiled down at him and fisted his hands on either side of Haru’s shoulders. It took far more will than he planned to keep himself from thrusting into the heat. It was so much hotter than it had been in the pool, more radiant to see Haru stripped down to a level of comfort that didn’t require it for this intimate moment.

 

“Hurts?” Makoto said in a gasp.

 

Haru looked like he was going to pass off a weak lie at first.

 

“A little,” he said.

 

Makoto pressed his forehead to Haru’s. Haru clung to his arms and didn’t look away.

 

It felt like an hour they stared at one another before Makoto shifted his hips forward, an agonizingly and blissful pace it was, until he buried himself as deep as he could. He stayed like that, sharing the same space of breath as Haru as their bodies merely felt the other, one full, the other surrounded.

 

At last, Makoto allowed himself to rotate his hips. A delicious groan dribbled out of Haru. His hold constricted on Makoto’s biceps.

 

Before he could question if he had moved too soon, Haru breathed out, “Again.”

 

So, Makoto did. And again, and twice more before he tested a thrusting motion that nearly sent his skin flying off. It was like the very first time all over again, intensified by the degree of intimacy Haru’s bed provided them. Makoto knew some of his hips were no better than jerking motions, desperate angles to make Haru gasp again.

 

Makoto had wanted to do to Haru what water did. Throughout the short span of their newly aroused affection, he learned little things to accomplish that. Water did not sit still for Haru; it undulated and molded around him as Haru paved his way through, just as much as it embraced him when he lazed his back on it to watch the sky.

 

So Makoto did not act himself the force that demanded anything out of Haru. As Haru moved, he moved, and as he moved, Haru did. One thrust forward met Haru’s tilted hips, a light bite to a neck and Haru pressed into it. They molded into their dynamic, long ago established that first time a young Makoto translated to his family what a much quieter Haru had thought of dinner—pretty good, but could have been great with some mackerel.  

 

And with their dynamic came the swell of emotions, flitted and kept to their respective selves for a bulk of their time together. Here, there was nothing to keep hidden, and Makoto didn’t think he could try to soften the sounds of his grunts and cries. Paired with the sound of his thrusts and Haru’s breathless noises, it was a cacophony Makoto would have gladly drowned in.

 

“Haru, Haru,” he chanted, because it said everything. His mouth tried to leave more kisses on Haru’s neck, his jaw, but he doubted he landed each one as his movements reached the pinnacle.

 

Haru lost himself to a shout at the increase in speed. His nails raked down Makoto’s arms, his back, up his sides, the bite both sharp as it was satisfying. Makoto gathered enough of himself to watch Haru’s face, feel the last bursts in his body like those that came at him at the last seconds of a race.

 

“Ma-“ The name choked on a cry. Haru’s head fell back, his back in beautiful formation as the orgasm crept up seconds faster than expected.

 

The grip on Makoto’s body blinded him to anything else, and it was all he needed to shove once more and hit his climax.

 

His body locked tight in the pose as seconds bled into each other. Haru’s harsh breathing reached his assembling consciousness first, sounding like he had just breached the surface after minutes of being underwater.

 

What energy sustained Makoto’s arms dissolved when Haru’s hands fell off him. He pulled out in time to crumble beside the other’s heaving body, thinking training at the islands hadn’t left him as winded as this.

 

For a while, there was nothing but the calming of Makoto’s heartbeat and Haru’s breathing.

 

“Makoto.”

 

 Haru turned his face gradually, still pink and with newly tussled hair. No lines pleated any part of his face. The corners of his mouth weren’t exactly turned up, but they weren’t flat either. His eyes were fixated on Makoto and nothing else.

 

“Haru-chan,” Makoto said, smiling wide.

 

Another shade of pink layered over Haru’s face. He blinked rapidly as though catching himself staring, then looked away.

 

“There’s no ‘chan’ on—“

 

For the nth time, Makoto kissed him.

 

**-X-**

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted smut. Ta-da!


End file.
